A Renaissance Love Story
by Saturday
Summary: David driving a light blue Volvo, Jack Kelly in tights and pantaloons, and Nat King Cole lyrics. Happy birthday, Dakki.


**Author's Note:** HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY, DAKKI! I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! I am so sorry this took so long to get out, but I have been up to my eyeballs in homework and... Yeah. Bleh. Oh and by the way, to all readers, there may be some confusion about the narrator of our story. She is not, to be sure, Sarah Jacobs—I decided to use Dakki's real name instead of her penname just because it might be awkward, considering Jack and Dave don't really have nicknames... In any case, when you read about a Sarah, it is Dakki and not Sarah Jacobs. 

**Dedication:** I would like to dedicated this fic to Dakki (my beautiful, brilliant, hysterically funny and mildly schizophrenic Oregonian rapist lesbian lover) and to the impossibly sexy gypsy boy I spotted at the Sterling Renaissance Fair last summer. God bless.

**Disclaimer:** The newsies belong to Disney, any song lyrics belong to their respective bands/artists, and A Tale Of Two Cities belongs to Charles Dickens. Oh, and the Renaissance Fair is an actual thing, so I didn't think that up either, lol.

**A Renaissance Love Story**

* * *

"That beginning line, though! It's so amazing, Sarah, how could you possibly not appreci— Augh, here, read it to me." 

I lifted an eyebrow at David, but he smiled at me and shifted behind the steering wheel. Rolling my eyes, I lifted my copy of A Tale Of Two Cities and read in monotone, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the s—' Dave, listen to me. The only reason Dickens used such elaborate, flowery, over-the-top language was because he was a greedy aristocrat who was paid by the word. I still maintain that this book was ridiculous, the characters under-developed, and the plotline predictable."

"But— it's a masterpiece!" Dave groaned, running a hand through his dark curly hair.

"It's boring. I'm putting it away."

My name is Sarah, and I'm a junior at Milton-White Regional Academy in Sterling, New York. I listen to Simon and Garfunkel, discuss Dickens with my best friend David Jacobs, and spend most of my time writing and pretending that I'm not almost six feet tall. At the moment life is about as beautiful as it can possibly be, considering the wonders of SATs, added stress looking at colleges, and a winter that lasted approximately six months this year. I must say, I've been simply thrilled to be alive.

For the life of me I couldn't understand why on earth Dave insisted on taking me to the Sterling Renaissance Fair over our April Vacation. "I think... I think you could do with a bit of a break, y'know?" he had said, smiling maternally at me.

It was around noon when we pulled into the parking lot of the Renaissance Fair, Dave reciting a passage from Great Expectations for me. It was a gloomy, cloudy day with what looked suspiciously like rain clouds gathering at the horizon, and he had me roll up all the windows of his car before we got out. I decided not to mock him this time. His obsessive-compulsive tendencies might just save me from a soggy drive home.

"I've never been to one of these things before," I said as I climbed out of his Volvo.

Dave grinned. "Oh, it's so cool. Everyone's in costume and there's all this stuff going on; it looks exactly like you've been transported back in time to the fourteenth century!"

"Sounds like a dream come true for you, eh?"

"As a renowned Honors World History nerd—yes," he answered seriously. He put his car keys in the pocket of his jeans, and then turned to the area of dark trees, tented buildings, and wooden fences. "You know, I think you and I should rent costumes! We could blend in, become one with the Renaissance, wouldn't that be—"

"I, for one, would rather not see you in tights," I said with a grin. "And you would probably go blind if you saw me in a bodice."

"Touché."

We made our way to the ticket booth and were greeted by a costumed, dark-haired teenage boy holding an apple core. "Good morrow, kind sir and gently lady," he said charmingly. "Would either of ye be interested in purchasing a good-quality, authentic apple core? Just fresh from this mornin'— Looks good, eh?"

Dave coughed. "Ah, no thanks... We were just going to buy tickets; is this the right booth?"

"Indeed it is," said the boy. "Two adult tickets for one day?"

"Yep," I said.

The boy handed us the tickets and stamped our hands, and we paid him. He smiled and said, "Enjoy your stay! Oh, and stop by on your way back... I've got plenty more apples if my offer intrigues you later on." He winked and adjusted his collar. "Next!"

"Do you think that was some sort of sexual innuendo?" I murmured to Dave as we entered the fair.

"I have absolutely no idea," he answered, looking slightly alarmed. "He was cute, though. Maybe he was intoxicated or something?"

"He does a very convincing Old English accent."

"Point taken."

I had to hand it to Dave; now that we were inside, the full splendor of the Renaissance Fair finally hit me. The air was full of the rich smell of God-knows-what roasting in several of the booths, there were tents upon tents of dark greens and reds with coin-makers and archers and gypsies and musicians, and, the most beautiful of all, I noticed numerous young Renaissance men moving about in old-fashioned tights. "Aw Dave..." I gulped, grabbing his shoulder as I gazed around in awe.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" He glanced at his watch. "All right, I told Jack we'd meet him at 12:30 so we should probably get going now."

"Jack?"

"He's an old friend of mine from drama camp; he's been working here for the past few summers. I think you two are really going to like each other."

David Jacobs is not often wrong; he's the kind of kid who gets straight A's in all his classes and has been taking college-level courses since his sophomore year. But when he is wrong...

Man, when he's wrong, he's _really_ wrong.

* * *

**_L is for the way you look at me..._**

"My dear ladies, please forgive my poor, tottering uncle— he is a good man at heart, this I promise ye. When I was naught but a squealing babe betwixt two and three, he took me in as one of his own and with him have I lived ever since. I know not of any ill nature in his mind! I am sure he meant not to steal any of your lovely... gold... coins..."

The crowd laughed, and the gypsy boy bowed low with a broad, white smile. His "poor, tottering uncle" adjusted his money bag with a smirk and began to tiptoe away. The crowd laughed again.

The gypsy boy looked up, spotted his uncle, seized his collar, and turned back to the crowd with a desperate smile on his face. "How about... Some music!" he declared with a false heartiness in his voice, and he whipped out his flute and began to play.

David nudged me and nodded at the handsome young gypsy boy. "That's him," he said quietly. "Jack Kelly."

From the moment I laid eyes on Jack Kelly, I strongly disliked him. There was something about him, his cockiness, how comfortably he seemed to fit into those tights— I did not want to spend the afternoon with this guy, anyway, that much I knew. I glared at him as he danced about with his flute.

The audience seemed to love him, however, and when the performance ended they applauded and tossed coins into his upturned cap. "Jack!" Dave called, cupping his hands around his mouth and standing on his tip-toes. "Jack Kelly, over here!"

Jack looked up. "I beg thy pardon? I fear you mistake me for another; I go by the name of Paulo." He bowed again, and I bit my lip and looked away. Gahh...

"Aw shut up and get over here," Dave laughed, and Jack flashed another wide, white smile and obliged. "How've you been doing?"

"Not bad, Dave," Jack replied, slipping into a casual New York accent which served only to heighten my dislike for him. (Fanatical Red Sox fan? Bingo.) "Oh, and I see you brought a... friend?" he added as an afterthought, noticing me for the first time.

"Oh, right, this is Sarah," said Dave, and I forced a smile. Jack looked me over, his smile fading like a window wiped clean. I stopped smiling too.

"Oh," said Jack again. He took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and glanced at Dave. "And does she... Is she...?"

I blinked, and David frowned. "No," he said, and that was that.

I decided not to pry into the matter, as Dave was looking significantly uncomfortable and Jack was giving me what appeared to be his attempt at a glare without allowing his cocky half-grin to slip. There was an awkward pause. "Well," said Jack, clasping his hands together, "I actually have to get going—we have another performance in about ten minutes at the Dunking Hole, and if I'm late I think Bumlets is gonna strangle me."

"We'll come!" said Dave immediately, apparently entirely oblivious of my dislike towards his friend. "Could be cool, right, Sarah?"

"Mm-hmm," I said, bending down to tie my shoe. I was glad I couldn't see either of their faces; I did not like the way Jack was looking at me.

* * *

**_O is for the only one I see…_**

"I therefore condemn thee to seven dunks in the Dunking Hole, one for each sin thou hast committed," declared the judge on stage, banging his cane against the ground. He looked expectantly at the audience, who looked back blankly for a moment and then gasped appropriately as he had bidden us to do. He smiled.

"Not the Dunking Hole!" cried the dark-haired boy with whom Dave and I had come into contact earlier (Bumlets, apparently), melodramatically pretending to faint, but the guards pushed him into a wooden chair attached to an extended plank of wood. Used like a see-saw, the plank allowed the boy to be dunked seven times into the water. The audience roared with laughter.

I, however, found myself preoccupied. With Jack.

He was standing next to the judge, sopping wet after a previous dunking for "coveting the pudding of another," as the judge said, and he was watching with a mildly amused expression on his face as Bumlets was dunked. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"That's the guy with the apple core, isn't it?" Dave murmured to me, pointing at Bumlets as he staggered out of the chair and flopped theatrically onto the grass.

I blinked. "What?"

"If Your Honor would allow me to speak, I would like to make a suggestion," said Jack, stepping forward and bowing low. "Methinks the boy should be—"

"Shut up, Paolo," said the judge, banging his cane on the floor and rolling his eyes. The audience laughed, and Jack backed away embarrassedly.

I found myself wondering if his shirt had been that tight earlier. I supposed when it was dry it was much looser, but now that he had been dunked at was clinging alarmingly to his chest and stomach. That, combined with his already frighteningly fitted tights, he looked pretty damn near naked...

"Sarah," said Dave with clear exasperation.

"Yeah?" I answered, jerking myself out of my reverie and glancing at him. He was looking at me with the politely irritated facial expression of someone who has been forced to repeat a question several times in a row.

"The boy up there," he said slowly and clearly. "Is he the boy with the apple core whom we saw earlier today?"

I looked back up at the stage in time to see the next defendant being brought onto the stage, a bemused sort of woman with thick spectacles and her apron on backwards. "Anna Zupicci," announced the judge, "accused of stealing flowerpots from the garden of her neighbors."

"Hang on!" Jack yelped, leaping forward. "That's me mum!"

The audience laughed, and Anna Zupicci blinked and peered at her son through her thick glasses. "Ohh Paulo, good morrow!" she said after a moment.

"Good morrow, mother," said Jack tiredly. He turned to the judge. "Your honor, would thou honestly think to separate a poor, wandering gypsy boy from his beloved mum?"

The judge paused, holding his cane tightly in one hand. He looked out at the audience, and then turned back to Jack and smiled. "No, of course not," he said. He paused again, and then declared, "I hereby condemn the pair of thee to three dunkings for coveting flower pots and puddings!"

We all laughed, and I heard David groan beside me. I glanced at him. "What's up?" I asked with concern.

"Are you going deaf in one ear or something?" he demanded, prodding me irritably in the side. "I give up!" He threw his hands into the air. "All you can see is that stage, it's like your eyes are glued to Jack or something!"

I chose to ignore that comment.

* * *

**_V is very, very extraordinary..._**

The show ended, and the audience burst into applause. I clapped too; it had been very well-done, and I had to hand it to them for allowing themselves to be dunked so. After a few minutes Jack emerged from behind the building, wringing out his sleeves and grinning at us.

"That was ridiculous!" Dave laughed, clapping him on his sopping wet back. "You guys put on a really great show, I loved it. Sarah loved it too, didn't you, Sarah?"

I looked up blankly. "Pardon?"

"Oh it's okay, I'm sure she wasn't watching," said Jack, waving a hand dismissively. "I suppose as one of the only girls at Milton-White, you must be above this kind of nonsense."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Jack!" Dave yelped. "What—"

"For your information, being one of the only girls at Milton-White has not changed my attitude towards obscure Renaissance Fairs in April. I was watching your performance, and I found it highly entertaining," I replied icily.

"Oh did you?"

"I did indeed."

"Guys, why are you—" Dave started.

"Are you sure you weren't paying more attention to Dave?" Jack continued, glaring at me.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

He laughed dryly. "As if you don't know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I don't know exactly what you're talking about!" I snapped.

"Saaaaaraaaaaaaah!" David whined.

"As if I didn't see the way you two—"

"'We two' don't do anyth—"

"Of course you do, why else would you have come to this thing together?" Jack retorted. "As if any—"

"Jaaaaaaaaaack!" David whined.

"This is ridiculous!" I snapped. "You're being ridiculous. I don't even understand what you're trying to say to me, but I honestly don't give a shit. Good morrow, kind sir."

"Good morrow!" Jack answered acidly, and we both turned on our heels and stormed off in opposite directions, fuming.

Dave blinked. "Extraordinary," he said. "Just fucking extraordinary."

* * *

**_E is even more than anyone that you adore…_**

I sat down on a rock next to the coin-maker's booth and ran both hands through my hair, my face scrunched up in frustration and confusion. What the hell was he getting at? Did he think Dave and I were a couple or something? And if so, why did he care so much? It wasn't like he was interested in me, I had only met him a couple hours ago—it was more like he was interested in Dave or something.

"Ah, and what a sad day it is," said a plump woman in a bonnet, smiling maternally at me from her coin-maker's booth. "Methinks the sky will soon be raining down on us, o unhappy day!"

I resisted the urge to flip her off and instead satisfied myself by glancing up at the sky. Indeed, the dark clouds seemed to be moving closer above us. Great. Just great. I almost wanted it to rain just so it would complete my miserable, grumpy day—then I could blame my bad mood on something other than PMS and obnoxious, stocking-legged teenage boys.

"Ah, Paolo!" exclaimed the coin-maker suddenly, smiling brightly. "How hast the morning gone for thee?"

"Quite poorly, but no matter, Mrs. O'Brien," said Jack. Where had he come from! "I believe I owe this young lady an apology, couldst thou grant us a moment alone?"

"Oh, but of course, dear," said Mrs. O'Brien, and her squat form disappeared back into the coin-maker's tent.

There was an awkward pause, in which the sky rumbled ominously. Jack coughed. "Um... Dave never told you we were a couple a few summers ago, did he?" he said after a moment.

I looked at him. "What?"

"He... never told you he's bisexual either, did he?" Jack continued blankly.

"No, I knew that," I said.

"Oh. Well I'm bisexual too, and we went out two summers ago at drama camp. I guess... I was just being a total bitch and a drama queen before, and I'm really, really sorry."

I blinked, slightly stunned. I satisfied myself by saying, "Oh."

He coughed again. "But I have to say that that doesn't excuse you from being a complete bitch to me from the start."

There was another great clap of thunder, and several drops landed on my shoulders and the top of my head. "What!" I demanded. "How was I a bitch from the start? You were the bitch!"

"Oh, was I?" he snapped as the rain began to grow heavier.

"Yes, you were!"

"How so?"

"'Oh, and I see you've brought a... friend?'" I quoted, raising my voice over the rain. "What was that supposed to mean! Right away you hated me because you incorrectly supposed that I was Dave's girlfriend, which I'm not, by the way!"

Jack was pretty much yelling to make himself heard over the torrential rain that was now pouring down upon us. He moved closer to me and shouted, "I, AT LEAST, HAD REASON FOR MY ANGER! YOU WERE JUST A BITCH!"

"YOU WERE BEING A COCKY PRICK!" I yelled.

"I WAS NOT!"

"WELL YOU CERTAINLY ARE NOW!"

"POINT TAKEN, BUT YOU'RE BEING A BITCH RIGHT NOW, TOO!"

"BUT NOW I KNOW THAT YOU'RE A COCKY PRICK!"

"GAHHHH! I CAN'T STAND YOU!"

"YOU'RE FUCKING OBNOXIOUS!"

And with that, we threw our arms around each other and began to kiss passionately. It was the most bizarre make-out session I had ever experienced in my life, taking into account his tights, my blue jeans, the rain, and the simpering plump coin-maker sighing, "Ah, young love!" from inside her booth. If there were any fireworks, I couldn't hear them over the thunder overhead.

Jack pulled back suddenly, astonished. "Wait..." he said slowly, clearly having a lot of trouble thinking.

"I don't get it either," I said.

"Okay, good."

"Kiss me again, please."

"As you wish."

* * *

**_And love is all that I can give to you _**

**_Love is more than just a game for two _**

**_Two in love can make it _**

**_Take my heart and please don't break it _**

**_Love was made for me and you_**

**_-Nat King Cole_**

**Author's Note:** Ohh that sucked... I'm so sorry, I tried my best but the words just aren't flowing. I'm so out of practice! Gahhh... Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, I LOVE YOU!

DALTON: throws confetti into the air

...What is this stuff made of, Charlie?

DALTON: Knox's underpants.

KNOX: It's okay, I never wear them, anyway.

Leave a review and I'll love you forever! And be sure to wish Dakki and happy birthday, 'cause she kicks SERIOUS ass.

Saturday


End file.
